


Rust and Release

by Polyhexian



Series: Excerpts from an Electronic Empire [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Memory Loss, Multi, Pining, Polyamory, Robots, Sci-Fi, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome - M/M/M, valveplug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28992087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian
Summary: A soldier on leave at Proxima station between planetside deployments encounters a strange pair of strangers whom he can't stop thinking about.
Relationships: Orthus/Vervactor, Orthus/Vervactor/Overclock
Series: Excerpts from an Electronic Empire [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126772
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Rust and Release

ln a crowded Mechanica bar, Overclock was nursing a pint of dark-coloured fuel and people-watching. His squad had arrived back on the station earlier that evening and Commander Seax had immediately run off to report to the Prince leaving him and the rest of his unit to entertain themselves with some well-deserved leave. He'd never actually been to Proxima Station before, only the smaller satellites and Earth, so he'd been looking forward to this stop, even if he didn't know anyone here.

It seemed a crowded place he'd found, a little bar called _The Battery_. By the door lingered an armed bouncer, though he didn't seem especially worried, and all the other booths were lined with other soldiers on leave, gossiping pleasure-bots and station civilians. In one corner a band was playing a variety of digital and analog instruments, an eclectic mix that was pleasant on the audials for as rough as it was.

The bartender was hooked into the bar itself, grabbing and mixing chemicals and liquids to hand out a variety of fuel mixes, coolants, oils and acids, meeting the needs of a great many characters waving for his attention. The most interesting of all of them, by far, was a gangly rust bucket of a mech who looked to have once been forged with shiny black plating that had been scrubbed and eaten away to reveal patches of bare steel that rusted and corroded everywhere it could, exposing internal mechanisms not meant to be exposed. If that weren't enough, he was a Frankensteined thing, patchworked together in places where his original parts had been replaced by pieces that didn't quite fit, had clearly not been made for his model. Whether to compensate for how frankly ugly he was or by human-inspired habit, he was wearing some loose-fitting clothing over his frame, most notably a massive brown scarf or shawl that wrapped around his shoulders and fell down his angled back, evening out his shape into a formless lump.

Overclock watched as the stranger argued with the bartender, voice at first lost in the din of the room before it rose loudly.

"Not true!" he yelled, "I just got here!" 

Overclock didn't hear the bartender's response, but he could tell the stranger was becoming agitated and he finished his fuel and stood up. Just as he had reached him to ask what was going on, the rust bucket scrambled up from his seat and over the counter, as if he meant to punch the bartender. Overclock reacted first, grabbing him by one leg and yanking him back down.

"Alright, buddy, I think you've had enough," he said to the mech on the ground, struggling up to what must be his elbows. He could tell when he looked up at him, the stranger's six optics narrowing, that he didn't appreciate a brown-scrubbed tungsten and carbonite military class mech standing over him. 

"Don't hurt him!" the bartender cried behind him, "I'll call Orthus!"

Overclock frowned, and before he could respond, the mech he'd thrown to the floor launched himself at him. He was surprisingly heavy and managed to knock Overclock off of his center of balance, slamming him into the bar hard enough his optics reset, but he only got the lucky break. Overclock twisted and pulled him into a headlock, his mismatched hands scrabbling at his arms as he tried to pull himself free.

"Alright, come on, calm down," Overclock told him, "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Let me go!" the rust bucket shrieked, "I won't tell you anything!"

"What?" Overclock frowned.

"I'd rather deactivate!" he yelled, and Overclock raised an antennae in alarm and turned back to the bartender for help, but he was still on the phone, apparently.

"Hey, that ain't gonna be necessary," Overclock told him, "You just need to calm down."

The trapped mech only fought harder, pulling hard enough Overclock was worried he might tear the casing off of his helm. "Just shoot me and get it over with!"

"What?" Overclock asked, baffled.

He heard the door swish open and footsteps running through the room, drawing his optics away. Looking up now he could see most of the attention in the bar had gone to him, and a sleek white and black bodyguard unit heading his way, helm like a motorcycle helmet that sloped upward in the back for the suggestion of triangle shaped ears, visor a dark mask.

"Vervactor!" the bodyguard unit cried, dropping to his knees as he reached him so he could reach up and grab his captive's hands and pull them away from where they were pushing against Overclock's hold, "It's okay! I'm here, it's okay!" 

"What?" said the rust bucket, apparently Vervactor, "But you're…" he trailed off for a moment uncertainly, "I've done it again, haven't I?"

Overclock saw the bodyguard unit nod, and Vervactor went slack in his grip. "It's okay. I've got you." He glanced up. "Can you let him go?"

"Oh, yeah," said Overclock, breaking the headlock. Vervactor stumbled for a moment and then set himself down on his knees as the bodyguard unit reached around to the back of his head, fumbling with internals. Overclock watched him unhook a cathead connector and Vervactor slumped forward against him, visibly offlined, and the bodyguard unit hefted him up and struggled to his feet, turning back to the bartender.

"Do I owe you anything?"

"Don't worry about it," said the bartender, "Take him on home. I'll see you around, Orthus."

Orthus nodded and then turned away, though it looked like he was struggling with his load. Overclock was struck by what a strange image he was, this sleek, beautiful mech with an artisan design carrying a glitched-out pile of rusted parts and scrap fabric. 

"Do you want a hand?" Overclock asked, before he could stop himself.

Orthus stopped and looked back at him, optics tracking uncertainly behind their dark screen, before eventually he nodded. He let Overclock take the offlined mech from him and carry him in his arms like a human might a child, his frame clearly more suited for such things than Orthus's slim bodyguard build, and together they left the bar.

"Thank you," said Orthus once they were alone.

"No problem," Overclock answered, "I'm Overclock, by the way. I'm on leave."

"From Seax's unit?" Orthus replied, tilting his helm in surprise, "I'm Orthus- um, this is my partner, Vervactor."

Overclock tried to quash the flare of disappointment that he felt. Orthus was a _very_ attractive mech, and it was shocking he would settle for someone like- Overclock glanced down at the rust heap he was carrying- someone like _that._

"From Seax's unit," Overclock confirmed, "Just got here today. He do this often?"

"No," Orthus answered quickly, "He's- he just gets confused, sometimes, is all."

"Hm," Overclock commented.

"He's not a troublemaker," Orthus insisted, "You caught him on a bad day."

"I believe you," Overclock assured him, though he really wasn't that invested. "What about you, then?" he asked, changing the subject, "Not a soldier?"

"No," Orthus answered, "I'm on call for station security, but I work in maintenance."

"Maintenance?" Overclock scoffed, "You?"

"I actually tried out a few things when we got here," Orthus continued, "But I liked maintenance best. I enjoy fixing things."

"Hm," Overclock hummed again.

"You think I'm working below my station," Orthus stated knowingly, though he sounded irritated. 

"I'm not out to begrudge anyone their right to choose their function," Overclock said quickly, "I only mean your model type is kind of high-specced, you know? I heard an Orthus can shoot the head off a moving pin at 2000 yards."

"On a clear day," Orthus mumbled, "I don't like shooting. I'm just equipped for it."

"And your partner?" Overclock prompted, trying to change the subject, "What does he do?" 

Orthus glanced up at him somewhat nervously and then away again. "Maintenance, sometimes. When he feels up to it."

"Ah," said Overclock, "So, the glitching is…?"

"Stop judging him," Orthus snapped, "You don't know us."

"Sorry," Overclock said, and he was, "You just seem like a strange pair, is all."

"This is our stop," said Orthus, as he approached and then keyed open a habsuite door, "If you could just set him down on the berth, please."

Overclock did as he was told, careful with the gangly mech in his arms, afraid he might break him. "Is he gonna be alright?"

"He's going to be fine," Orthus answered curtly, "He just needs a manual reset. I've done it a thousand times. It's not a problem. Thank you for your help."

Obviously dismissed, Overclock lingered in the dim room for a moment, before he dipped his head and left, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Overclock was surprised, the next day, when he was sitting alone in his dim little corner booth, and the rust-bucket he'd carried home the previous evening slid into the seat across from him, fresh pint in hand and slid it in front of him.

"Uh," said Overclock.

"I asked Oxide what you were drinking," Vervactor explained, sitting back and folded his arms on the table, "Consider it a thank you for punching me yesterday."

Overclock squinted at him. "Uh. You're welcome, I guess. I never actually punched you, technically. I only put you in a headlock."

Vervactor waved a hand dismissively. "Tomato-tomahto. I don't really remember. Thanks for clocking me, anyway, Orthy said you were a real peach."

Overclock highly doubted Orthus thought he was 'a real peach.' "Thanks."

"Here's my commcode, if you need anything while you're on station," he said, sliding across an actual piece of paper at him and rising to his feet, "Catch you around, maybe."

"Maybe," said Overclock, dubiously.

* * *

Overclock didn't see them for the rest of the week. He'd been having trouble recharging at night and he didn't much know anyone here, but it had been a nice enough visit. He'd done some sightseeing and some drinking, but he'd spent most of his time alone and he was ready to ship out again in the morning. He was strangely going to miss the station, the calmness of it compared to the anarchy planetside. A pleasant reminder of why they bothered, what the point was. 

He was enjoying a final drink at _The Battery_ and procrastinating on returning to his bunker to recharge when he saw Orthus again.

The bodyguard unit ran across the busy room in a beeline for the bar counter, leaning forward to talk to Oxide who was behind it, visor glowing in worry. 

"Has Verv been in here?" he asked, sounding harried, "I can't find him anywhere."

"I'm sorry," said Oxide, "I haven't seen him all night."

"Damn," Orthus cursed, "If you see him, _call me_ , please!" The bartender nodded and Orthus was gone again, back the way he had come. 

Overclock watched the doors shut through narrowed optics, swirling the last of his fuel in his mug. He pulled up the frequency number Vervactor had given him a week prior and scanned the ship for it, software he was certain the bodyguard didn't have. His signal came up readily, somewhere in the bowels of the station. He finished his fuel and shrugged. What the hell.

Overclock made his way downward, following the map of the station he'd downloaded as he travelled through winding corridors and thin staircases set in between boilers. Things only grew darker as he went and he wondered what had brought the patchwork mech so deep into the labyrinth, until the corridor opened up into a wider room, still dim, but damp and warm, covered in organic material- moss, mostly. Fascinating it was able to grow even here, so far from Earth with so little to work with. He plucked a bit from a dripping pipe and held it between his fingers, investigating the strange material with mild intrigue.

He wasn't paying attention when something slammed into the back of his head so hard that his optical feed cut off and rebooted and he stumbled forward, catching himself on the pipe. He spun around, activating his combat protocols and folding back his arm cannons. His targeting software engaged and locked onto his attacker, the scrapheap he'd come looking for.

"What the hell?!" Overclock demanded, "What was that for?!"

"Don't worry about it," Vervactor said, still clutching a broken pipe in his hands, "It's for your own good."

"I'm- I'm sorry?" Overclock said, squinting. Vervactor responded by swinging at him again, an attack he dodged easily, skipping backward. 

"Come on!" Vervactor yelled at him, voice frustrated and desperate, imploring him for something, "Just let me hit you!" 

"No!" Overclock yelled, firing a warning shot past the other mech's head. Vervactor ignored it completely and switched tactics, swinging at him again with the pipe, an attack he blocked easily- at the same time two arms Overclock hadn't realized he had shot out from under his layered fabric, holding some kind of blade and struck him in the shoulder, sinking into his armor and severing a fuel line that brought up a flurry of warning messages on his HUD.

"Oh, you're not going to _shoot_ me!" Vervactor scoffed, halfway to a laugh, "It's _me._ "

"I barely know you!" Overclock exclaimed. 

Vervactor didn't have a functioning mouth, just six glowing optics on a curved faceplate, but somehow it seemed like he was frowning. "You know me," he asserted. 

Overclock was done playing, though, and folded his arm cannons away, because he _wasn't_ going to shoot this malfunctioning scrapheap, and punched him instead, sending him to the floor. He scrabbled against the ground to get back to his feet but Overclock leapt onto his back, shoving his helm forward and down as he searched for the cathead he remembered seeing Orthus detach before. 

"Stop!" Vervactor yelled, sounding panicked, "You don't understand! I'm trying to help you!"

"Sure," snapped Overclock.

"Please!" Vervactor insisted, "You have to trust me, Orthus!"

Overclock found and pulled out the cathead, and to his absolute horror, severed it in the process. Vervactor collapsed beneath his hands, offline.

"Oh, no," Overclock whispered in the now quiet room, "Oh, fuck…"

He opened up his station map again and located the emergency repair bay, hefting up the ragdolled Vervactor and wincing as his shoulder cried out in protest, before he ran back up the way he had come.

Overclock felt guilty when his injury was tended to first, the offlined Vervactor laying still on another berth while he had his fuel line cauterized. That guilt only doubled when the repair doors slid open and Orthus ran in, visibly distressed, head turning wildly as he searched for and found his partner. 

"Verv!" he yelled in a voice that suggested he'd been crying, running to his side. Overclock winced when Orthus seemed to realize the damage, taking a sharp, horrified intake as his hands moved over the back of his helm. 

"I'm sorry," Overclock spoke up, "I tried not to hurt him."

Orthus turned back to look at him, his long, smooth face, intentionally unreadable in its inorganic design tilting downward as he tracked his optics across his face. "I know," he said hoarsely, after a moment, "It's not your fault."

"I won't be able to finish patching your armour until this afternoon," the technician apologized, "I'm sorry. I can't release you for duty."

"Dammit," Overclock hissed, frustrated, "Great. Perfect. Just _fantastic._ "

The technician finished cauterizing the line and stepped away, to lean down and speak quietly to Orthus. Overclock caught the gist of it, an old part needing replacement had to be built from scratch, it would take a few hours. The technician left them, clearly aware of the sizzling tension in the room. 

Overclock slid down from where he was seated to cross the room and stand next to Orthus, who had slunk down to kneeling on the floor, arms folded across the bed. "I'm sorry," he said again, "I know it wasn't his fault. I didn't want to hurt him."

"I know," Orthus murmured, "Thank you for that. Not everyone is so understanding."

Overclock felt an odd twist in his fuel tank in response. "I'm sorry for the other night. Processor injuries aren't uncommon in my line of work."

Orthus glanced at him. "It's alright. You weren't nearly as unkind as most people are."

"I think seeing you is what scared me," Overclock murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"If that happened to me," Overclock said quietly, "I wouldn't have anyone who wanted to take care of me."

Orthus softened, and looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Will he be alright?" Overclock asked, changing subjects.

"He'll be fine," said Orthus, "He just needs some new cabling and a hard reboot. Things have just been…" he trailed off, as if struggling to find the words, "He's not been doing well lately." 

Overclock fidgeted for a moment, and then joined Orthus in sitting on the floor, crossing his legs. "He called me by your name."

Orthus blinked, frowned, and then nodded. "He has flashbacks, sometimes." 

"He hit me in the head," Overclock continued, "He rambled on a bunch; said it was for my own good, that I needed to trust him, that I wouldn't shoot him." 

Orthus shuddered and made a pained little noise that he swallowed quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, I know that one."

"He actually attacked you?" Overclock asked, furrowing his eyebrows, " _Before_ his processor damage?"

"It's not like that," Orthus shook his head.

"What's it like, then?" Overclock prompted.

Orthus trembled for a moment and then reached out and took one of Vervactor's rust-covered hands in his own, smooth white metal plating with perfectly sculpted curves, a stark contrast. "We had the same owners, on Earth," he started, "A very rich human family. I wasn't there too long, only a few years- kept around the house, mostly. He was the gardener. He'd been working there for decades." Orthus rubbed Vervactor's palm with his thumb, even though he clearly knew he couldn't feel it. "He was funny. Nice. I was deep programmed, late stage models, you know, my AI wasn't meant to stray, but he just kept _bothering_ me, poking and prodding at it until he got a response. Before I knew it I _wanted_ , and that was something I wasn't programmed to do. I wasn't supposed to _want._ "

"Human hubris," Overclock mumbled, "Limiting AI. It sickens me."

"He was my friend," Orthus whispered, "My only friend. I liked… being around him. And when I had to leave, I didn't like it. Most of it is strange to remember now, blurry, sideways. It doesn't make sense anymore." He tilted his faceplate to look over at Overclock. "I'm not sure how he found out, but somehow he heard that he was up for replacement, that he was going to be scrapped, and he made contact with a liberator. The thing is, he could have gotten away on his own easily. He wasn't worth anything. No one would have chased him."

"But he wasn't going to leave you behind," Overclock said. Orthus nodded, looking choked up.

"He wasn't going to leave me there. But he knew my programming wouldn't let me leave, that I couldn't fight it, that I wouldn't be able to go even if I wanted to-"

"So he hit you hard enough to knock you offline," Overclock finished, realization dawning through his circuitry, "And you got deprogrammed later."

"He hit me hard enough to _startle_ me," Orthus corrected, "And then I turned around and I was- just confused, honestly, I didn't know how he'd snuck up on me, how I could have been so desensitized to his presence that I didn't register his approach as a threat, and he just- he told me to trust him, just let him hit me, and then I-" Orthus came to a shuddering halt, visor flickering as he took a shaky intake, "And then I _did_ shoot him." 

"Oh," said Overclock.

"I surprised myself, honestly, long enough for him to hit me again, and this time he _did_ get me offline. When I woke up, I was in a mecha city, deprogrammed, and suddenly I could feel _everything_ and it was so _much_ , and-" Orthus trembled, his hand tightening on Vervactor's, "And he wasn't there. He was too badly damaged, and he sent me along alone, and the alarms went off and the dogs got him, and he- stripped, deactivated, disposed of. Like trash. I didn't know that at the time, I just knew we'd left him behind, and it was my _fault_ , and- and I had to go back for him, but he wasn't there."

Overclock looked away from the storyteller and at the motionless Vervactor, a rusted pile of scrap metal that looked like it had been through hell and back.

"I spent six months digging through a landfill before I found him," Orthus told him, his voice cracking, "And another three trying to find someone who could bring him back online."

"I'm sorry," Overclock said, not sure what else he should say.

"I know people look at him and see a pile of junk," Orthus murmured, pushing his flat mouth grill into the back of the hand he was holding, "But they're wrong. He's funny and clever and kind and I love him."

Overclock desperately wanted to kiss him, and he wasn't entirely sure why. "You're very lucky to have found each other," he said instead. 

Orthus nodded, but gave him a soft, grateful look.

Eventually Overclock returned to his own bed and plugged in to recharge while he waited for the technician to finish forging replacement armour. 

* * *

Overclock was pulled from restless recharge by the sound of movement, a rustle of rusted metal and fabric that had him onlining his optics to find the culprit standing beside his bed, winding his scarf back around his shoulders. On another bed, Orthus laid on his side, deep in recharge and clearly exhausted. Vervactor glanced back at him as he sat up.

"Shh," Vervactor hushed him, quietly, "Don't wake him."

"Are you leaving?" Overclock whispered, confused. Vervactor nodded. "Where are you going?"

"You don't need to worry about it," Vervactor murmured, turning away again as he gathered his things, "Sorry I stabbed you."

"It's fine," Overclock said, though it still smarted, "Where are you going?"

Vervactor twitched. "Did he tell you anything?"

"He told me how you met."

"Did he tell you this was my third strike?" Vervactor asked, "That if I got to three we'd be kicked off Proxima?"

"No," Overclock admitted, "He didn't tell me that."

"Do me a favour," Vervactor said, "Keep him busy for an hour or so. That's all I need."

"Need for what?"

"To get off-station. I hear there's an open seat on your transport, anyway." 

Overclock's fuel pump flipped. "You're leaving without him?"

"It's _my_ third strike," Vervactor said firmly, "Not his. He's not safe on Earth. Not with a model like his."

"You shouldn't," Overclock insisted, "It'll break him."

"You barely know him."

"I barely have to know him to see how badly he would take it if you left him behind," Overclock said, standing up, "This isn't the way."

Vervactor looked back down at Orthus, his optics dimming. "I know." 

"I'm not going to report it," Overclock assured him, and wondered why he felt so invested in these strangers, "As far as I'm concerned I just tripped."

Vervactor's optics trembled and flickered as he straightened up. "...Thank you, Overclock."

Overclock gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's going to be okay."

Vervactor gave him a look that might have been grateful or regretful and then knelt down in front of Orthus's bed so he was at optic level and set a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently awake. "Orthy. I'm up."

"Verv!" Orthus cried, scrambling forward to throw his arms around Vervactor's neck. 

"It's okay," Vervactor murmured, "Sorry I worried you."

"No, no, I'm just glad you're alright!" Orthus exclaimed, "I love you so much."

"I know," Vervactor responded, "I love you, too."

Overclock softened, regarding the display. "Glad everything worked out, then."

"Oh!" cried Orthus suddenly, "Overclock! I'm so sorry you're missing your shuttle!"

"Yes, well," he grumbled, "I'll just need to wait until the next one."

"Do you have anywhere to stay?"

Overclock grimaced. "Unfortunately not."

"You can stay with us, if you want," suggested Vervactor, "We have a spare fold up berth."

Overclock hesitated, and then nodded. "Thank you. That would be… nice." Overclock felt a fluttering along his circuits at the look Orthus gave him, something warm behind his visor.

* * *

Overclock felt strange, laying in the spare bed in his strange new friend's habsuite. Across the room in the darkness he could see them in recharge, Orthus clinging desperately to Vervactor in his sleep as if he were afraid he was at risk of vanishing at any moment. He wondered how he'd ended up here and why he wasn't more upset about it. 

Orthus was certainly beautiful, sleek and stylized, with steel-titanium armour and a smooth, featureless helm, but Vervactor, whom Overclock had initially thought ugly, was beginning to grow on him. He was gangly, strangely shaped, asymmetrical, but it made him almost bizarrely fascinating to look at. One could appreciate all the pieces that made him up, mixed and matched together, infinitely detailed. Someone you could look at forever and always find something new about. Overclock didn't know why he was lingering on such thoughts, clearly inappropriate, clearly unwanted.

He rolled over and tried to think about anything else until he slipped offline to recharge and hoped he'd make it through the night for once without interrupting defrag.

Morning came and with it came station lights and alarms, and Orthus was up first, getting ready for his shift. 

"Are you going to be alright today, Verv?" Orthus fretted, cupping the mech's face in his hands, "I can take the day off. Starsteel will understand."

"I'll be fine," Vervactor assured him, "I've got a babysitter, anyway."

Overclock rolled over lazily. "Did you just give me a job?"

"Sure did," said Vervactor, and leaned forward to tap the front of his and Orthus's mouthless faceplates together. The bodyguard still seemed worried, but eventually left for his maintenance shift, and the two of them were alone. 

"Do I really need to keep an optic on you?" Overclock asked. Vervactor sighed through his speakers.

"Maybe," he admitted, "It comes and it goes."

"Hm," Overclock hummed with a grimace, stood, crossed the room and crawled into the double berth beside him, back to back. "Proximity sensors will go off if you try to leave."

"Oh," said Vervactor quietly, "Alright. Thank you."

Overclock drifted offline again, exhausted from the previous evening's escapades. He didn't wake again until late morning when his proximity alarm pulled him out of recharge and he eyed Vervactor stumbling off to the room's washracks. He sat up and opened his HUD, going over his morning subroutines until his new roommate returned, looking a little improved. 

"So," prompted Overclock, "What's on the docket for today, eh?" 

Vervactor blinked at him, before he grabbed his scarf from the nightstand. "There's a garden on the upper viewing deck. All organic stuff. I like to go and take care of it when I'm not working."

Overclock wasn't especially a fan of organic matter, he found it sticky and messy and dirty, but he wasn't going to say that. "Alright," he said instead. 

The garden wasn't as bad as he had been expecting. It was clean, neatly trimmed, with a walkway throughout that let him avoid walking on the organic material. He'd also been expecting sort of a dark, tiny little room with some potted plants and not what appeared to be a small park, with a few stragglers lingering across it at their leisure. He hadn't even known this whole area was up here. 

Overclock leaned over Vervactor's shoulder, careful to keep his feet on the walkway and off the grass. "What is that?"

"Juniper," Vervactor answered, "It's a ground cover plant, and it grows quickly. It needs to be trimmed often or it will grow everywhere."

"Hm," Overclock commented, eyeing the plant like it might grow suddenly and consume him.

Vervactor continued on with trimming the juniper, unabated. They continued on like that in peaceful quiet until it was apparently time to go, and Vervactor looked up as if an internal alarm had gone off.

"I meet Orthus at _The Battery_ at six," said Vervactor, "But he runs late a lot of the time because of work."

"S'pose you wouldn't begrudge a little more company, then, huh?" Overclock inquired, and Vervactor seemed to brighten. 

"Orthy doesn't drink," Vervactor commented as they trailed back out of the garden, "He's all electric."

"Not even oil?" Overclock asked, "Coolant?"

"Electricity and compressed air," Vervactor nodded, "That's it."

"He must be recharging constantly," Overclock whistled.

"Pretty much," Vervactor chuckled, "He eats up HVDC like a starving animal."

Orthus wasn't there when they arrived, like Vervactor had predicted, and Overclock commandeered his favourite little booth in the corner and sat across from his newest friend with a pint. Overclock was surprised how easy the other mech was to talk to, how much he was enjoying his company when he really hadn't liked him at first. They were laughing when Orthus appeared at their table and slid in beside him.

Overclock had never really been close with any of his squadmates, but he thought maybe he could get used to this.

* * *

Overclock was under heavy fire, pinned down behind a blown out concrete wall, clutching a tiny offlined mech in his arms. He had no idea how he was going to get himself back behind his squad's fall lines, let alone a civilian. The wall behind his back continued to shake as bullets buried themselves in it, and his software was running overtime trying to locate an exit path, coming up empty, and he was leaking fuel into the dirt, and-

Something shook him awake.

Blinking blearily in the darkness it took him a moment or more to recognize where he was; his temporary home on Proxima with Orthus and Vervactor. His proximity alarm was buzzing in the back of his mind and he switched it off, frustrated, uncomfortable and embarrassed. 

"Are you alright?" Orthus asked, sounding worried. 

"Fine," Overclock mumbled, though he felt far from it, shaken to his struts, "Just hit a corruption in defrag. It's fine."

"It didn't sound fine," Vervactor said, sitting up, his six optics glowing in the darkness. 

"Didn't mean to wake you," Overclock said, voice hoarse and less confident than he would have liked, "Don't worry about it." 

Orthus tilted his head forward, visor dimming, and Overclock followed his eyeline to where his hands lay, trembling, and he folded his fingers inward self consciously, tugging them against his chest. Orthus glanced back at Vervactor, who gave him a little nod and he turned back. He reached forward and took Overclock's hands in his own, pulling them gently away. Overclock could have resisted, tucked them back in against his body, but let them take them instead. 

Wordlessly, Orthus pulled him to his feet and across the room to their bed and into it. Overclock found himself between the two of them, arms around his middle, body warm from proximity, and realized his hands had stopped shaking. Orthus's helm settled against the back of his neck, settling his nagging proximity alarm and giving him some relief.

Morning came with no further nightmares, feeling more peaceful and rested than he otherwise had in months. He wondered if he should feel strange where he was, still tucked between two people he had only known a matter of weeks, and couldn't quite find it in himself to do so. He pushed his face further into the soft fabric of Vervactor's scarf, venting hot air from beneath his helm against it. 

The other mech shifted, mumbling in his recharge as he tightened his grip around Overclock's abdomen. He felt Orthus sigh against the back of his neck. 

"Are you alright?" the bodyguard unit asked quietly, sensing that he was awake. 

"I am," Overclock murmured, "Don't you have work?"

"Not today," Orthus answered.

Overclock fidgeted, kneading his hands anxiously. "Should I get up?"

"You don't have to," Vervactor whispered, "You could stay."

Something warm flooded through his circuitry, and he puffed hot air through his vents again. "Okay."

Orthus grip around his middle tightened, palms laying flat against his chest, one thumb rubbing against the edge of his armour. Overclock let one of his own hands fall against the one on his plating and their fingers entwine, grip tightening. He could feel fuel rushing through his lines and electricity rippling through his circuits, off-kilter and uncertain, forging ahead through uncharted territory without a compass.

Vervactor bumped their foreheads together gently, his own fingers smoothing across the back of the hand that was holding Orthus's. Hesitantly, he let his hands slide around to the small of Vervactor's back, smoothing over the rough plating.

"I know you're just waiting for the next shuttle to leave," said Orthus quietly, "But we were wondering if maybe you would-" he paused, kneading their held hands together, "If you would stay."

Overclock shivered, grimacing. 

"You could," Vervactor added, "Have you ever not been a soldier?"

Overclock shook his head. 

"Don't you think maybe it's time?" Orthus asked, "Do you know who you are?"

Overclock found himself unable to answer, burying his faceplate in Vervactor's shoulder instead. Four hands rubbed his back consolingly. 

"It's nice here," Orthus answered, "You could be happy."

"Where would I stay?" Overclock wondered out loud, "What would I do?"

"You could stay here," Vervactor suggested. 

Something electric went through him and he pushed back to look Vervactor in the optic, only for the gardener to shift forward and press his faceplate to Overclock's lips. Overclock jolted, but not away, some bizarre combination of want and guilt roiling in his fuel tank, like he shouldn't be doing this no matter how badly he wanted to. As the feeling was beginning to outweigh his desire Orthus nuzzled his helm against his neck and let his hands drift lower down his abdomen, suggestive in their intention.

The guilt slipped away and he sighed into the contact, letting his optics shut and kissed Vervactor back along his jaw toward his neck. Orthus let his hands fall to the inside of Overclock's thighs, kneading the metal there and he pushed his aft back into him, asking for more.

Overclock could hardly believe how reverently his hands were moving over Vervactor's body. His frame felt fragile beneath his fingers, worn and battered metal thin and breakable where he touched it, full of gaps and ill-fitted replacements but fascinating even still, finding something new with each inch he explored. With newfound confidence he grabbed Vervactor's aft and squeezed, tugging him flush against his front as he mouthed at his neck cabling, and the mech whined, optics shutting off as he leaned into the attention. 

One of Orthus's hands moved between his legs and palmed against his modesty panel, growing warm already, his fingers running enticingly against the seam-lines. Overclock couldn't help but slide open under his touch, his half-hard cock beginning to pressurize. Orthus didn't hesitate to wrap his hand around it, and Overclock took a great shuddering intake of overheated air and pulled away, pushing himself up and looking askance.

He filtered cool air through his vents, narrowing his optics at the wall, lips parted and the taste of Vervactor's copper plating on his tongue. 

"I'm sorry," said Orthus, behind him, "Overclock, I didn't mean-"

"No, it's-" Overclock started and stopped again, optics tracking nothing in the middle distance, trying to find the words, "I don't-" he shook his head and turned back to look at them, looking at him, his fuel tank flipping, "What is this? What are we doing?"

Orthus and Vervactor glanced at each other. "Trying to convince you to stay?" said the bodyguard hesitantly.

"You barely know me," Overclock replied, "Why would you want me to stay so badly?" 

Vervactor sat up, leaning back on two hands and reaching forward with the other two to take Overclock's. "Because we like you," he said, as if it were that simple, "Because you're a good mech."

Overclock was not used to getting close to others. He'd been built a soldier, and even given the opportunity to leave he had never taken it, never wanted to. He had lost squadmates before, plenty of them, and had mostly kept to himself since he was built. The tugging in his processor, pulling him back down in bed was new, unfamiliar, somewhat frightening, and yet altogether wonderful in its own way. 

"I…" he started, careful, "I want to stay." 

Orthus visibly brightened and Vervactor's antennae twitched upward. "Here?" the bodyguard prompted.

"Here," Overclock confirmed, feeling a weight leave his shoulders, and the visor-faced mech surged forward to grab his arms and pull him back down with them.

Overclock's apprehension was gone now, replaced with a growing sense of giddy anticipation. He turned his attention to the bodyguard, pressing messy kisses along his jawline, straddling his waist while Vervactor rolled onto his side to wrap a hand around Overclock's dick, which twitched encouragingly in his grasp. Orthus wrapped his arms around his neck, arching his spinal strut and sighing happily. Overclock nudged his knee up against Orthus's heated panel and the other mech immediately ground against it, delighting in the friction. 

Two of Vervactor's hands tugged at his shoulders, pulling him away with a laugh to lean across and kiss him instead, third hand still stroking his cock. 

"Verv, you're hogging him!" Orthus teased and Vervactor snorted derisively. 

"He's got a _mouth_ , you think I'm not gonna hog him?" 

_That_ triggered something in Overclock he hadn't known was in him, revving his fans as he clambered backward and away between the gardener's thin legs to kiss at his modesty plating. It snapped aside and revealed a nicely shaped cock, thankfully free of rust (though Overclock wasn't surprised it was a newer installation, this sort of component was pretty limited on organic-constructed mecha) and pressurizing _very_ enthusiastically already. Overclock didn't hesitate to lick up it's length and slip the head into his mouth, reveling in the taste of silicone and copper. 

"Wow," he heard Orthus say reverently, leaning on an elbow as he watched Overclock get to work, bobbing his head downward to take as much as he could. One hand around the base of Vervactor's cock and pumping what he could not reach with his lips, other hand kneading the inside of his thigh as he sucked and bobbed. Distantly he heard Vervactor's helm thump backward against the bed. 

He felt Orthus shift and crawl forward but didn't realize what he was doing until the bodyguard was seated behind him on his thighs, tracing the way the platelets fell on his aft with his fingers. Overclock shivered hard as one moved inward and brushed past the actual ball joint, so deep within his superstructure it was triggering alarms in his HUD he ignored. Orthus's exploring hands moved lower to run the length of where his sexual array began and then paused, as if giving him the opportunity to stop him. Overclock did not and Orthus continued, trailing a finger over the swollen folds of his entrance, running just deep enough to touch leaking lubricant.

"Wow," Orthus said again, "Fully equipped."

Overclock pulled his mouth away while Vervactor whined. "Are you not?" he asked, turning his face around.

"No," Orthus admitted.

"I am," said Vervactor, tugging at Overclock again, "Come back, god, don't _stop-_ "

"You're so needy," Orthus scoffed, and Overclock took pity on him and returned his mouth to his cock, bobbing down and languidly counting the ridges along its length. Vervactor sighed pleasantly and let his head fall back again. 

Orthus pressed one finger into the wet heat of Overclock's entrance, pushing through layers of rippling calipers that made the soldier hum delightedly against the cock in his mouth. He canted his hips upward, angling for more. Orthus worked his finger in and out a few times as the soft walls opened up for him and he added a second finger, scissoring them apart. 

Orthus pulled the lips of Overclock's pussy apart, admiring the colour change where the tan plating outside shifted to a deep warm black within, oozing bright blue lubricant. Sinking his fingers in again he curled them into the calipers and greedily worked in a third.

Overclock whined and flexed his thighs, pulling his hand in and Orthus shushed him. "I'm coming, don't worry. I'm in no rush."

He pulled his fingers away and held Overclock's hips as he shifted forward, releasing his modesty panel and his pressurized cock. Vervactor noticed the way he was aligning their positions and sat up on his knees, pulling Overclock along with him. Orthus held his cock in one hand, glistening white with a pleated black underside, running the head through the lips of Overclock's needy cunt. He whined again and threatened to release Vervactor's cock and Orthus didn't tease him any further, sinking into him and letting his visor go dark as he was enveloped in warmth.

Overclock moaned with wanton appreciation and Orthus buried himself to the hilt, revelling in the feeling.

"You're so tight," Orthus groaned, leaning forward over his back, running his hands over his sides, "You feel so good."

"I'll say," Vervactor murmured. 

On his hands and knees Overclock pulled at the gardener's hips, trying to encourage him to thrust into his mouth as Orthus set a pace behind him, plunging his cock into his pussy with a deep reverence. The sound of metal on metal and the scent of ozone filled the room and Overclock stopped holding back, sucking and slurping and swallowing with an increased desperation as Vervactor devolved into wordless binary. 

Overclock was overheating, vents open and churning out hot air as his frame crackled and sparked, building up charge that was quickly consuming him, a white hot knot coiling tightly in his gut. It was all he could do to keep that knot from snapping when Vervactor suddenly snapped his hips forward hard, his length sinking into Overclock's throat as his cock burst with sticky blue biofluid, searing hot and gushing out of the corners of his mouth with it's volume. 

Orthus, however, didn't let up and Vervactor withdrew and Overclock collapsed against his waist, hands wrapped around his back and clawing at plating as Orthus plowed him into his lap. Mouth unhindered the soldier wailed, trembling all over with sensation, shamelessly drooling. 

"I think he likes your dick as much as I do, Orthy," Vervactor panted, glancing cheekily up at the bodyguard. His visor flickered back.

"I think you might be right, Verv," Orthus said, leaning forward and knocking the soldier's legs open wider as he did, "How about it, Overclock? Do you?"

"God, fuck," Overclock gasped, "It's good, it's so good, Orthus- _Orthus-_ "

The white-hot knot in Overclock's belly tightened until it split and he wailed, pussy tightening and biofluid spilling from his dick, his pleasure flowing through his body and flooding out of it again. Orthus fucked him through his orgasm, drawing it out until the soldier started to go slack and he pulled out, jerking himself off into his lower back. Overclock panted in Vervactor's lap, coming down from the high while Orthus sank back on his ankles, admiring the way his biofluid looked on Overclock's armor, viscous cyan fluid smeared across taupe coloured plating.

"You look good like this," Orthus commented. Overclock glanced back at him wearily.

"I look like a mess," he said, regaining his composure as Vervactor leaned back and leisurely ran a hand over his head, petting him fondly. 

"I like it," Orthus asserted, then rolled forward and crawled up beside him, flopping onto his side, "I like you."

"I still think this is crazy," Overclock mumbled, butting his head up into Vervactor's hand, "You barely know me."

"No, I know you," Orthus said firmly, "I've seen you. You're good."

"Not to be dramatic," Vervactor interrupted, "But we're both intimately acquainted with how quickly you can lose everything. What it's like to lose someone and wish you'd loved them when you had the chance."

Overclock was silent, his plating pinging as it cooled. He thought about all the comrades he'd watched die. "I understand."

"So you will stay, then?" Orthus asked. 

Overclock snorted and grinned. "I mean, if you keep plowing me like that, I'll never leave." 

"What, I don't get a turn?" Vervactor asked, tilting his head toward him. 

"Oh, please," Overclock purred, "I so hope you do." 

Vervactor's antennae perked up happily. "We have to push the other bed over here," he commented, "This one is already crowded."

"I'll put in my discharge papers today," Overclock nodded, "And I guess… I guess I live here, now."

"Welcome home," Orthus said softly.

"I'm home," Overclock replied.

"Welcome home," Vervactor echoed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! I've never published original work here before so I'm really nervous, but, I wanted to share these stories and characters because I like them... so I hope you do too!


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